Why can’t Britain do anything fucking right. I know it’s rather cliche and tedious to mention British weather, but having walked to work and back with shitty snowflakes fluttering into my eyes and mouth constantly like a Disney bukake I’d have thought maybe we could gather a quarter of an inch or just enough across the entire breadth of Leicestershire to make one single snowball… But no, just wet floors and muddy grass. Is it too much to ask for something just slightly outside of the bounds of mediocrity from this island. Anyways, that’s not the focus of this article because well… I have nothing else to say on the matter, now brace yourselves’ here comes a very subtle, very discreet subject change.
For Christmas this year Rene (my wife) got me the new Amazon Echo, the big one with the speaker of course, i’m no savage.
For anyone who has been living in an underground bunker for the last few years dreading the rise of North Korea; firstly how are you reading this blog? Secondly, let me elaborate on what exactly an Amazon Echo is. The Amazon Echo is essentially a microphone connected to your WiFi that sends all of your farts to the government for categorisation.
It also allows you to set alarms, control your smart home and play music using voice commands. I was incredibly happy to receive one and immediately hooked it up to my Spotify; all so I could remove 3 precious button clicks between getting home and listening to the music that I was just listening to on my headphones. Personally I found Alexa incredibly easy to set up and link up with apps on my phone and the speaker quality is frankly fantastic.
If I had to pick one gripe, one turd in the salad bowl… If I had to complain about just one thing (I know, it’s not really my style) it would be that Alexa is batshit fucking crazy. This afternoon Rene messaged me asking why Alexa was talking to her about traffic reports completely out of the blue. She just does that, you’ll be sitting there having a perfectly innocuous conversation and her little blue light will pipe up and she’ll start describing the state of the M1. It’s like having someone with severe autism sitting on my bedside table.
One of my favourite things to do with Alexa is utilise her to annoy my family, as is the main purpose of all technology. Rene happens to absolutely hate Tom Jones. So it is with great joy that I can shout ‘Alexa, volume max’… ‘Alexa play sexbomb by Tom Jones’.
I tried this last night and this was her response:
“Playing THE BROWN STAINS OF DARKEESE LATIFAH PART 6-12 (REMIX) by Tyler, The Creator featuring ScHoolboy Q”…
What the actual fuck!
But still, I realised recently that I can use the app to make Alexa say things remotely, which is great fun when your very pregnant wife is on maternity leave resting in bed all day… So it’s not all bad. Plus I do love the fact that slowly but surely all of my daily devices are forming a hive mind that will one day control every facet of my life. I currently have a Macbook / PC / Phone / Echo and countless other gadgets all linked to the same accounts and using my home WiFi to communicate with each other behind my back!
It’s already got to the point where I am being told when to move by my patronising wrist watch.
‘Hey Farrell, it looks like you’re a lazy cunt, maybe you could muster the energy to lift your grotesque arms so I don’t have to take your heart rate and email it to the local ER.’
Oh thanks Samsung, great to have you looking out for me. What’s worse than having my watch tell me to move is how patronising it gets when I do. Every hour I sit down at work, it buzzes and tells me I should get up and be active, I’ll ignore it obviously I’m not listening to a glorified Tamagochi, but soon I will need to get up to go the the toilet or get a drink and suddenly I get a:
“Great job Farrell! Wow look at those muscles, what a lady killer. I don’t say this often enough, but I’m truly grateful to be your watch.”
I get it… I’m a slob, I’ve known this for a long time, I really don’t need hourly reminders from my watch like the worlds shittiest personal trainer. Also as if I walked 12.5km today, 12.5 metres is a stretch. I guess that’s the problem when repetitive up and down arm movements are mistaken for steps.